


Tiny Dancer

by NotAGhost3



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom - Susan Kay
Genre: 1970s AU, 1970s LA, Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Happy if you squint, Mentions past parental death briefly, One Shot, Rare Pair Contest Entry, Romance, Sorelli is a backup dancer for a band, Strangers to Lovers, Summer Nights, Teenage CinnamonRaoul!, angsty ending, totally based off of the Elton John song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:41:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24859321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotAGhost3/pseuds/NotAGhost3
Summary: When he closes his eyes he's always greeted by the image of how her eyes lit up under the moonlight at the sight of the slowly crashing waves that night...Philippe/Sorelli. 1970s AU. One-shot. Written for littlelonghairedoutlaw's Rarepair Contest!
Relationships: Comte Philippe de Chagny/La Sorelli
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8





	Tiny Dancer

**Author's Note:**

> Day or two past the deadline but I am so glad I was able to finish this story for littlelonghairedoutlaw’s Rarepair contest! This idea has been mulling in my mind for about two years now, and I just hope I've done it justice! 70s AU totally inspired by "Tiny Dancer" by Elton John!

Philippe de Chagny doesn't like to remember.

Doesn't like to remember the day his mother died or the day his father died, the day he had to grow up too soon, far sooner than any young man would want or should have to. Doesn't like to remember his days at university, wasting away on a degree that wouldn't matter and slaving away trying to scrape up a corporate ladder that there were no rungs left to climb on. He hates remembering. If he could he would forget all of it.

Except that is, for _her_.

He wants to always remember her. The curl of her hair, the shimmer of sweat on her cheeks, the way her smile was crooked just enough to leave you wondering if she was really smirking, the depth of her gaze, the sound of her voice…

He never wants to forget her.

Never.

* * *

The first time he saw her she was on stage.

It was an outdoor concert he had never planned on attending and he was truly only there because he needed to close this deal and his client was a big fan of this particular band. That being said, on his own terms he would never be caught dead at such a _hippie_ ordeal. His suit jacket and tie made him a bit overdressed for the occasion compared to the jeans and crocheted yarn outfits surrounding him (some's attire lacking…well everything) and to be quite honest he was very uncomfortable.

But then she had looked at him.

Just a glimpse, a playful wink of her eye in the middle of a spin, glancing over her shoulder at his third row seat.

Was this what it felt like to have the world fall around you?

The music didn't stop, the guitars still strummed and the drums still beat but his ears were deaf to them, his jaw opening just slightly.

It wasn't until he felt a clap on the back of his shoulder that he realized he was gaping.

"So how about we grab drinks after this, look over that paperwork?"

Philippe swallowed and nodded, unable to tear his eyes away from the way her top shimmered from the stage lights and the way the wind blew her hair just ever so slightly…

"Sure, sure…"

Needless to say, he didn't close that particular deal.

* * *

She was in a pair of jeans, cut too short to be considered pants (and if he was being honest maybe too short to be considered _shorts_ ) and she was walking to her car. He had always been one to think rather than act but in that moment he wasn't thinking.

He had let his client leave without him.

He had let him leave all because he had spotted _her_ out of the corner of his eyes, hair long and a ring of keys twirling around her finger.

"Hey!" He had shouted when she was a bit closer, just _doing_ instead of mulling a decision over in his mind.

She had stopped and looked around, but there was no reason to— he was the only other car on this side of the parking lot as he had stalled long enough waiting (hoping) to see her.

She tilted her head to the side, catching her keys in her hand. "Hey?"

He swallowed. He hadn't planned on getting this far. He'd always been one to flirt and the sorority girls from his college days were always a breeze to talk to, to _charm_ but…why wasn't he talking?

He leaned against the door of his car. "Uh…I thought you did great tonight..uh, you know…dancing…"

She smirked, but didn't come any closer.

"Yeah? You recognized me?"

He shrugged. "I was in the third row."

She nodded, crossing her arms across her chest and pulling her light jean jacket closer to her body, hoop earrings glittering from the street lamp.

"Big fan of the band?"

"Nah," He shook his head. "Never heard of them before…besides it's hard to enjoy the band when there's some one as captivating as you up there."

Ah, there he was.

_Thank God._

He watched as a faint blush crept to her cheeks and her shoulders relaxed. "Captivating, huh?"

He nodded.

"You always wear a suit to rock concerts?"

At that he glanced down and fiddled with the black tie around his neck, pulling at the collar to loosen it. "Only when I'm here for work."

Her smile drooped. "Are you a…reporter or something? Trying to catch an interview?"

He shook his head, pulling the tie off over his head. "Nah, no nothing like that, my client just invited me and I just came to seal a business agreement."

"Oh," she said, her steps bringing her a bit closer to him. "And did you?"

"No, I…" He doesn't know why he said it, but it flew out of his mouth before he could stop it. "I got distracted."

A perfectly poised eyebrow cocked at his remark, more confidence that he could ever muster radiating from the woman in front of him. "A _captivating_ distraction?"

A trace of a smile and a shrug was all it took for her to close the distance between them.

"I don't suppose you were waiting around for me?"

"Maybe."

"Wanna get out of here?"

And thus began the best summer of his life.

* * *

Her name was Sorelli and he'd never seen a name suit anyone else better.

He loved the shape of it in his mouth and the way her eyes twinkled when he said it—

Maybe he was being mushy.

Or maybe he was in love.

Even now, after all these years…

He ripped a new sheet of paper from his notebook, crumpling up the one he had been writing on and throwing it in the trash.

He started the letter all over again.

* * *

L.A. was never the place he'd imagined that he would end up living in again, but that's where he had landed and Raoul seemed happy and was doing good in school— really that was all that mattered. (To be honest, a part of him loved it too. Loved the hustle of the streets and the nightlife and the people…well, _person_.)

Sorelli came and brought a whole new side to the city with her and seeing the city through her eyes was like seeing it anew all over again.

"You'd really never been here before?" He asked, his hand brushing against hers as they walked down the sidewalk in the drizzly Tuesday evening rain.

"No, I've never been this far West ever. Got the tour to thank for that," she laughed, fingers skimming by the threads of his raincoat.

_Tour._

Bands didn't stay in the same place very long, and he'd been lucky enough that her's was touring the local spots and surrounding towns so she was never too far away. But June was turning to July and July into August and with August came a new city, a new state and a tour bus that would take her away from him.

He'd known her two weeks and already he wanted nothing more than to throw his life away and follow her anywhere she'd lead him.

"Guess I've got the tour to thank then too." He cast his eyes down to hers, winking in an attempt to lighten the mood.

The back of his hand nudged against hers.

She smiled and laced her fingers in his.

* * *

The beach was her favorite place.

She had grown up in the midwest and the beach was only something to be dreamt about, an imaginary oasis that only movie characters got to go to, not people like Sorelli.

So of course that's where they went.

The ecstasy that took over her features the first time he took her there is one he wants to never forget.

* * *

When he closes his eyes he's always greeted by the image of how her eyes lit up under the moonlight at the sight of the slowly crashing waves that night.

* * *

They'd made a habit of it, meeting each other in the parking lot after her shows. He'd always loll around, waiting just past the security guards until he could catch a glimpse of her jean jacket with the patch on the elbow (she had sewed it herself from a piece of her mother's tablecloth she'd told him one time, laying beneath the stars, sand in their hair) and her ponytail bouncing as she walked toward him.

His lips would break into a smile and she'd push her bag further up her shoulder as she quickened her pace to reach him.

"Hi," she said, the tip of her nose sunburnt and glitter still decorating her cheeks.

"Hi," he breathed back, falling into step beside her as they walked to his car since her's was in the shop.

(It'd been 'in the shop' for a while, but Philippe was starting to suspect that maybe there was a different reason she insisted on riding with him. Either way, he wasn't about to start complaining.)

"Philippe?"

"Hm?"

"I wouldn't suppose you're in a hurry to get home?"

He glanced down at her, that mischievous gleam in her eye.

"No…?"

She shrugged and wrapped her arm around his, leaning into his shoulder as they walked.

"Think we could just drive around and look at the store front lights? I wanna take some pictures of them to show my parents back home."

He stopped as they reached the car and unlocked it, opening her passenger side door. "We can, but only if you promise to let me take some pictures of _you_ in front of the lights."

She reached up and pushed his hair out of his eyes. "Only if you're in them with me."

* * *

Paradise was fireworks, a deserted beach and _her_.

If Heaven was anything other than that he didn't want it.

July 4th had been mostly uneventful, a few calls to his clients even though it was holiday and a bit of paperwork on his own, all just biding his time until she started rapping on his front door. Raoul had beat him to the door and gave him a knowing smile over his shoulder as he ushered her in.

"You didn't tell me you had company," Raoul said, closing the door and flipping the porch light on.

Sorelli giggled and it was like every bell he'd ever heard tinkling in his head. He rounded the corner in time to catch her setting a brown grocery bag on the floor at her feet.

"Don't you have homework or something?" He grumbled, rolling his eyes and earning another laugh from the soft pink lips before him.

"It's the middle of summer break! Why would I have homework?"

He wanted to kiss her then, there in the front room of his parent's house, but Raoul was standing behind him and the lights weren't as dim as he'd like them.

So he didn't.

He hadn't even told her he loved her yet.

He didn't want to scare her away, but there wasn't a doubt about it.

He loved her.

Instead he picked up the grocery bag full of drinks and loaded the three of them up in his car and drove them to the shore to see the fireworks.

And there he was again, inches from Sorelli, her eyes bright from the light of the fireworks, Raoul a few feet away from them on a towel and two empty beer bottles stashed in the brown paper bag beside them.

"Aren't they beautiful?" She whispered, leaning into him.

He swallowed, pushed a strawberry curl behind her ear, and slipped a hand beneath her chin to turn her face toward him.

 _She_ was more beautiful.

It was the softest brush of lips, skin against skin, but it was perfect.

He never wanted to kiss another pair of lips that weren't her's.

* * *

"We're touring in Northern California next week, I know it's a bit of a drive, so I understand—"

"No, no, it's only a week, and I could drive up on Saturday."

"I don't want to be a bother…"

"Sorelli, you…you're never a bother. I want to drive up."

"You sure?"

"Sure."

* * *

The pen is heavy beneath his hand as he starts to write again, the words his heart needs to say refusing to pour out.

Instead he stares at the practically blank piece of paper before him.

He was an idiot.

Why hadn't he gone?

He penned one measly "S" and set his pen back down.

* * *

There was laughter coming from the kitchen.

_Laughter?_

His briefcase landed on the in-table with a _thud_ as he made his way to the kitchen, eyebrow cocked. _The Game of Life_ was spread across the kitchen table with Sorelli and Raoul on either side of it, their small countertop radio playing on in the background.

"Oh! Sorry, I got here really early and you had this game and Raoul wanted to play too…"

He had made dinner plans for the two of them for that night, but work had ran late and he was afraid that he'd barely have time to shower before she got there but now—

"Can I join?" He said instead, loosening his tie and pulling up a chair, not even glancing at the clock getting closer and closer to his 7'o clock dinner reservation.

It was so easy to pretend in that moment. Easy to pretend that Sorelli had always been there and had helped him raise Raoul and that this was her house too and that they were married, and they could have kids of their own and play board games around the table with them…

The summer was slipping away faster than he'd like.

_It was only July…only July…_

"Of course you can," she said, pulling out another game piece from the box.

Yes, he rather liked to pretend.

* * *

Rain trailed down his window, the warmth from his heater steaming up the windows.

What he wouldn't give to go back in time.

* * *

"Oh turn it up!"

Philippe chuckled and reached for the dial of the stereo, cranking the volume up a few notches.

Sorelli was swaying in her seat, one hand across the console resting on his thigh and the other waving in the air as she sang

" _Hold me closer Tiny Dancer…count the headlights on the highwaaaay—_ don't you know this one? Elton John?"

He stole a glance over at her, hair blowing from the window being down and a lazy smile gracing her lips.

" _Lay me down in sheets of linen…_ " his voice was gruff and not at all musically inclined. He wasn't much of a singer…or a dancer…or a musician of any kind. Raoul could pick at a guitar but that was about all the musical talent his family had to offer.

(Sorelli wasn't much of a singer either, but she could dance…oh, she could dance…)

Sorelli laughed. "This is our song, y'know? I'm not a seamstress, but I _am_ a ballerina…"

He tilted his head, eyes on the road. "You dance? Huh, never would've guessed…"

She gave him a soft punch to the arm, turning the radio up even louder before leaning over his shoulder to press a kiss to his ear…to his neck…to his shoulder…

"I think maybe we should pull over," she whispered before he heard the _click_ of her seatbelt unbuckling.

He pulled over, Elton John still singing their song in the background.

* * *

"This tour is important to me, Philippe, you don't understand, my career depends on keeping this gig—"

"I know, I know, but this is L.A. and you are so talented, I'm sure you could find work that's even better, that would get your name out there—"

"And keep me close to you?"

"Yes, exactly."

"I signed a contract."

"I can find a lawyer, we can negotiate it—"

"Or you could just come _with_ me you know…"

* * *

There was one night in particular, it was dry and it was late and she had knocked on his door after going out for drinks with the band, the moon high and his wall clock chiming two in the morning.

Her lips were on his before he could even ask if everything was ok.

"I love you, I love you so much," she said breathlessly between kisses, hands curled around his white V-neck T-shirt that he slept in.

Is this what happiness felt like?

He broke the kiss for just a moment, long enough to stare incredulously at her before speaking.

"I love you too." He never meant something more in his life.

Yeah, this was what happiness was like.

"I wanna go to the beach, I wanna see the ocean again…and feel the sand…"

He had her scooped into his arms, ignoring the faint smell of alcohol on her breath, carrying her to where his car was parked on the street, the only light coming from the streetlamp above them.

The beach was empty when they got there.

(But then again, he would _hope_ it'd be empty at this time of night.)

They stood for a while, just watching the ebb and flow of the waves. Then they had sat, his arm around her and her head on his shoulder.

And they stayed like that until he felt the first tear drip onto his hand.

He turned, watching her tears glisten down her cheeks as her eyes swam with the tears yet to be shed.

He could drown himself in the blue of them.

But now wasn't the time for that, now was the time to swipe the pad of his thumb under her eyes, gently catching the tears as they fell.

"What's wrong?" He breathed, coming to kneel in front of where she sat.

She sniffed and rubbed her cheek on her shoulder, looking anywhere but his eyes. "I don't want to leave."

He paused.

"I don't want you to leave either."

The silence claimed them again, enveloping them. The waves kept going, the tide crawling along the edge of the sand and then receding back into its depths.

" _I love you…_ "

She was the first to lean into him, her lips meeting his and doing a dance of their own against them. His hands were on her back, slipping between the thin fabric of her dress. Her hands pushed his T-shirt up and over his shoulders before dipping beneath the flannel of his pajama pants.

"I want you to love me…right here, on the sand and I don't care if someone sees us or finds us or…I just want you to love me...all over…" she purred against his ear as he trailed kisses across her throat.

"As long as you love me back."

He doesn't want to ever forget that beach and the way the sand covered them and how they crept into the ocean afterward and started all over again…

* * *

It was raining the day she left. He remembered that.

It doesn't rain without reminding him of her now.

* * *

It was the 12th of August when the he saw the first leaf fall. August…how was it already August?

Wasn't it just June last week?

* * *

"Elli, you know I can't just uproot my life!"

"But you expect me to?" She nearly shrieked, throwing her jacket into the suitcase on the bed a bit too harshly.

He stopped his pacing at the edge of the bed to look at her. "Your life is already uprooted! You live on the road! All I'm asking is for you to stop uprooting yourself and root yourself _here_. You have a home here, you'll be so much happier—"

"Really?" She turned on him, eyes wild and burning daggers. "You think giving up my dream job to be homeless and jobless will make me happier?"

His lips were a thin line.

"All I'm saying is follow me…why won't you?" She said softer, her voice quaking with quiet anger.

He released a breath and ran a shaking hand through his hair. "I…I…I can't, Sorelli, I can't…not with Raoul still in school and…Elli…"

Her lip quivered. Those perfect, soft lips that he dreamt of every night and longed to devour every time he thought of them.

Sadness didn't suit Sorelli.

Anger certainly did, looking every bit like a Greek Goddess warrior from one of Raoul's mythology books.

But joy looked best on her. Blissfulness and happiness…

Her eyes were already welling with tears.

"The bus leaves tomorrow. Nine in the morning."

And with that she zipped her bag up and walked out his bedroom door.

* * *

_My Dearest Sorelli,_

He stopped, resting the other end of his pen on the corner of his mouth. It was too formal. Too practiced, too polished. She was none of those things…she was…she was the wind itself, blowing her life any direction she wished.

 _No_.

No, she was a leaf and her _career_ was the wind and she simply trusted the wind's every whim.

_Sorelli,_

Oh, why was he even wasting his time? He didn't even have an address. Only a pen, paper and years worth of bottled up feelings.

Worthless.

* * *

He had helped her return her rental car the day before and now they sat together in his car in the parking lot of the last venue she had performed at, watching the roadies load the last of the remaining equipment into the back of the bus.

Like watching a body lowered into a grave.

He had seen too many of those in his lifetime.

His hand reached across his console to squeeze her's, his knuckles white and stomach in knots.

She looked over her shoulder at him.

* * *

_Sorelli,_

_How are you? I know we haven't corresponded in some time and I am sorry for the delay in that, but I had to have time to gather my thoughts properly. I have never been one for quick decisions and I'm afraid this letter is proof…_

* * *

The rain had begun to pepper down outside the car, streaming down the windows.

"You have everything packed?" He asked softly, thumb running over the back of her hand.

She nodded. "Everything but you."

He allowed himself a sad smile at that.

"Elli…I want to, you know I do—"

She lurched forward, hugging him tight against her chest, nearly joining him in his seat. "I know, I know…I just wish you'd change your mind."

He was thankful she couldn't see the anguish on his face at the weight of the decision he'd made.

"I love you, Sorelli."

But she didn't say it back, instead pressing her lips against his, cheeks wet with tears mirroring the rain outside the window.

"I love you," he said again as their lips parted and he drank in the sight of her, determined to always remember this exact image of her. Cheeks flushed and hair wild, eyes piercing right through him…

She grabbed her umbrella from the backseat.

* * *

_I would be lying if I didn't say that I think of you often. Often isn't able to describe it, to be honest it's a constant thought. A thought of you and me, together. I don't know what finally pushed me to write this, and I don't know if you even remember me enough to read down this far and understand my feelings but I had to write you…_

* * *

She gave him one last glance over her shoulder as she climbed into the bus, a half-smile and a kiss blown over her shoulder before disappearing into the bus.

And the doors closed.

And the bus began to drive away.

He was never a man of action. Always one to think rather than act, not the other way round.

How he _wished_ he were the other way round.

His hand rested on the key, still in his ignition and he went to turn it—

The bus wasn't too far away, he could still catch up.

He could still catch up—

* * *

_I had to write you and tell you that you consume my every waking moment. No one can compare to what I felt for you and I keep a photo of you by my desk at work. I know I'm being forward, but I look at you and I imagine and I think of what it would've been like if we were married and how it would be to raise children with you and…_

* * *

His hand dropped away from the key.

How could he follow?

He had a life here. He had responsibilities and a brother to care for and a _life_. Could he really toss that all away for someone who he'd known for three months?

Someone who'd snatched his heart from him the first moment she'd winked at him over her shoulder on stage and locked it away.

The bus was long out of sight, but it wouldn't be hard to find again…would it? Would it?

* * *

_I am going to be honest, Elli (if I can still call you that, I hope I can still call you that). I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. I don't know if you'll ever read this letter, or even receive this letter for that matter, but I had to tell you. Had to put it in writing. I hope you're successful. I hope (though it pains me to say so), I hope that you've found someone who is like you. Able to chase the wind and run at your pace and love you like you deserve to be loved. God knows I tried…tried and failed and now I have forever to dwell on the what ifs, the what could have been…_

* * *

He banged his fist against the steering wheel, before sinking his head down on it, tears of his own threatening to let loose.

What would Raoul do if he left? There were no parents, no grandparents, no aunts, no uncles, no cousins, just him. He would be alone. 15 and helpless…

But he'd been un-selfish his whole life, why couldn't he have this one moment? This one pleasure, this one selfish victory?

* * *

_I have never forgotten you…and I pray that you've never forgotten me._

_I love you more than I think either of us know,_

_Yours,_

_Philippe de Chagny_

He sealed the letter and stuffed it into the bottom drawer of his desk, reaching to light a cigarette to dwell on a letter never to be sent.

(Unbeknownst to him, there was a letter of his own, awaiting for him to find in the mailbox signed only "With never ending love, Sorelli" with a California return address.)

(But he wouldn't know that for a few hours yet.)

He drew another puff of smoke.

* * *

His hands shook and he gripped the key again.

_He could do it, he could do it…._

With the flick of his wrist he turned the key until the car started and the radio buzzed to life.

_"Ballerina...you must have seen her…"_

He pulled out of the parking spot and turned his steering wheel toward home, toward Raoul, toward the steady regular life that waited for him.

_"Dancing in the sand…"_

**Author's Note:**

> The End


End file.
